Montana Wedding: A Clean Romance

By Cari Lynn Webb

Can a fake date

Become the real deal?

Triplet Georgie Harrison will do anything to keep her family—including her newfound Blackwell relatives—from worrying about her. Which is exactly why she’s enlisted way-too-charming rodeo cowboy Zach Evans to be her fake boyfriend for her sister’s Montana ranch wedding. The problem is that Georgie’s not just tempted to fall for her own ruse…she’s also falling hard for the roguish cowboy she can never have.

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

From Harlequin Heartwarming: Wholesome stories of love, compassion and belonging.

The Blackwell Sisters

Book 1: Montana Welcome by Melinda Curtis

Book 2: Montana Wishes by Amy Vastine

Book 3: Montana Dreams by Anna J. Stewart

Book 4: Montana Match by Carol Ross

Book 5: Montana Wedding by Cari Lynn Webb

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harlequin Heartwarming
• Release date: Dec 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781488068355

Cari Lynn Webb

Cari Lynn Webb lives in South Carolina with her husband, daughters and assorted four-legged family members. She's been blessed to see the power of true love in her grandparent's 70 year marriage and her parent's marriage of over 50 years. She knows love isn't always sweet and perfect, it can be challenging, complicated and risky. But she believes happily-ever-afters are worth fighting for. She loves to connect with readers.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

EXCITEMENT SWIRLED THROUGH Georgie Harrison like stripes on a candy cane.

Christmas Eve, one of the best days, according to her and other eight-year-olds everywhere, had finally arrived.

Georgie surveyed the kitchen island. Flour covered the marble countertop like snow. Cookie cutters rested on a large cutting board. The sweet scent of sugar and cinnamon filled the air.

And caution wrapped around Georgie’s joy like the plastic cover protecting that candy cane. After all, accidents could happen, even on special days. Watching over her four sisters was especially important and a duty Georgie willingly accepted.

She checked the cookie sheets cooling on the stove top. The hot trays were far enough away from the decorating station and her sisters’ fingers. No one would get burned. Georgie picked up the rolling pin and set it back in its holder.

Mrs. Claus needs her own cookies, too. Fiona, the youngest of the five Harrison sisters, set a star-shaped cookie on a paper plate. These are for her.

We’re making cookies for Santa. Georgie nudged Fee, adjusting her sister until both her bare feet were centered on the stool she stood on. Fee might be steadier on her feet now that she was six years old, but falls happened at any age. Lily was proof of that. And Georgie had to be alert and prepared. Mrs. Claus has to stay home.

That’s not fair. Fiona frowned.

Yes, it is. Georgie sat on her stool at the island and dipped a thin spatula into the bowl of bright green frosting. Mrs. Claus is the one who takes care of the elves and Santa. If an elf gets sick or hurt, she has to be there to help them.

What if Santa is hurt dropping off presents tonight? Amanda, one-third of the Harrison triplet trio that included Georgie, tossed a handful of glittery silver sugar across a row of frosted cookies.

Then the reindeers will fly him back home. Georgie slathered a thick layer of green frosting over her tree-shaped cookie and grinned. Everyone got better at home.

Georgie had cared for Lily, the final triplet, after Lily returned home from her accident, and her sister had improved. Georgie added, That way, Mrs. Claus can make Santa feel better.

Santa can’t be sick. Lily walked into the kitchen and washed her hands. She had skipped cookie making to play soccer with her best friend, Danny Belmonte. One of the things you could still do in San Diego even though it was December.

Lily and Danny had already built snowmen out of sand and decorated palm trees in the front yard with Christmas lights. All thanks to the girls’ dad, Rudy Harrison, who had explained snow wasn’t necessary to get into the California Christmas spirit. What they needed, he’d said, was a little imagination.

We won’t get any presents if Santa is sick. Bits of grass stuck to Lily’s shirt, and mud smeared both her cheeks and forehead.

Georgie concentrated on Lily’s face, searching for scratches underneath the dirt, making certain her sister didn’t need her care.

No presents? Fiona pressed her sprinkle-and frosting-coated fingers against her pale cheeks. Her bottom lip trembled. But we gotta have those. I’ve been very good.

Mom! Peyton shouted from the family room. The oldest Harrison sister stood in front of the Christmas tree, where she’d been organizing the gifts from family by size and name. Peyton scowled at Georgie and yelled again. Mom! Georgie is messing up Christmas Eve.

Aunt Pru will be here in an hour. Susan Harrison rushed into the kitchen and hung up the cordless phone on the wall. Her gaze darted around the kitchen. We need to finish the cookies, clean up and be ready for family pictures. We can do this.

The Harrison sisters ignored their mother’s instructions and instead launched their complaints like rapid-fire snowballs.

Santa is sick, Fee cried.

Georgie said so, Amanda added.

I did not, Georgie hollered.

Lily steamrolled over Georgie’s denial. Santa had to go home for the night. And it’s Christmas Eve. The most important night of the year.

Fee threw her hands over her head. We don’t get no presents.

Amanda rounded on Georgie. It’s all Georgie’s fault.

It is not. Georgie jumped from her stool and straightened. Still she failed to look Amanda in the eyes. Her mother promised Georgie every night that she would grow taller soon, the same as Lily and Amanda, who were identical twins in their triplet trio with Georgie.

Lily and Amanda had sprouted like sunflowers, according to Great-Aunt Pru. Georgie might lack her sprout, but Pru had told her to always face the sun. Then Pru would hand Georgie a book from her private collection to nourish her mind, of course. After all, the tallest sunflower wasn’t always the one with the strongest roots. But Georgie liked the endless supply of books and simply wanted to be as tall as her sisters, to face them eye to eye.

"Santa is only going home if he gets sick. Georgie set her hands on her hips and tipped her chin up. She might be short, but she was still a Harrison. I never said he was sick."

Amanda opened her mouth.

Girls. Their mother raised her voice above the beep of the timer on the oven. Her tone was firm. Girls! That’s enough. No one is sick.

Told you so. Georgie handed her mom the pair of oven mitts. None of the sisters, even Peyton, the fourth grader, could take out the cookies. Their mother had declared they had to be twelve years old to reach into a hot oven.

Amanda narrowed her eyes at Georgie, a small hint that Georgie hadn’t won yet, and returned to her cookie decorating.

Peyton, find the cookie containers in the pantry. Fiona and Lily, you two go get cleaned up. Their mother tugged on the oven mitts and continued issuing her orders. Amanda and Georgie, you are on dish duty. One washes and one dries.

A collection of sighs shifted through the kitchen.

Move. Faster! Their mother clapped her mitts together. The timer blared again, signaling the cookies were more than finished. Aunt Pru is coming and we can’t have our guests think we live in such a mess. And what will Santa think?

That got the girls’ full attention. Suddenly five sisters scrambled into action.

Peyton raced into the pantry. Lily guided Fee off the stool. Amanda sprinted to the sink and Georgie grabbed a clean towel from the drawer for drying. Their mother opened the oven door at the same time Lily and Fee squeezed behind her.

Georgie watched the oven mitt slip off and her mom’s bare forearm press against the inside of the oven door, then heard her mom’s loud gasp. Georgie dropped her drying towel and lunged forward. Mom, are you okay?

The oven door slammed shut. Her mom shook off her mitts and studied her arm. It’s nothing.

Georgie rushed into the pantry and grabbed the first-aid kit. She’d convinced her parents to put first-aid kits on both floors of their house, as well as inside the garage and on the screened-in porch, for easy access after Lily’s accident.

But you’re hurt. Fee wrapped her arms around their mom’s waist.

She’s burned. Amanda gaped. Look how red her arm is.

It’s fine. Their mom rubbed her forehead. Her voice shook.

Mom, you need to put your arm under cold water. Georgie guided her mom and Fee toward the kitchen sink and motioned for Amanda to turn the faucet on.

Peyton and Lily crowded closer. Worry worked across their faces. Georgie tested the water. It’s not supposed to be too cold.

How do you know that? Amanda asked.

I read it in the safety book for kids that Dad got me on our birthday. Georgie made sure the water flowed over her mom’s arm.

What else does your book say? her mother asked.

Georgie chewed on her bottom lip. You can’t pop the blisters. That’s bad.

Peyton leaned closer. Does she have blisters?

Bad burns get bad blisters, Georgie stated.

Fee buried her head in their mom’s waist and held on.

Does she need to go to the hospital? Fear speared through Lily’s whisper.

Lily had gone to the hospital in an ambulance after her bad fall. Lily didn’t remember much from that afternoon, but Georgie remembered every detail. The worst part had been when the paramedics told Georgie she wasn’t allowed to ride in the ambulance with her sister. Georgie hadn’t been there to hold Lily’s hand. To promise her everything would be all right.

Georgie grabbed her mom’s free hand and squeezed. It’s okay to cry, Mom. You don’t have to be brave for us.

I don’t need to cry. Her mom pressed a kiss on Georgie’s forehead. I’m being so very well taken care of that all my tears are gone now.

I promise, Mom, Georgie vowed. I will always be here to take care of you.

CHAPTER ONE

GEORGIE HARRISON SKIDDED around a stroller, swiped at the coffee splattered on her shirt and kept up her manic sprint through Chicago’s international airport. She had to make her connection. It was the last flight to Bozeman, Montana, that day. And flights were already being canceled and delayed because of a weather system that was expected to drop well over a foot of snow around greater Chicago.

Panic pushed her to move faster.

Georgie couldn’t be stuck in Illinois. Her sisters would accuse her of conjuring the weather gods to avoid Lily’s wedding.

But it wasn’t Lily’s wedding Georgie wanted to avoid. It was her new family—the one she hadn’t known of until several months ago. An extended family of over a dozen relatives they’d only recently discovered they had, all with the last name of Blackwell, who would no doubt team up with her father and four sisters in pointing out the joys of life outside the research lab.

And by joys, her family meant boys. Or, more accurately, available single men who were ready to exchange rings and read their handwritten vows, and welcome kids into their lives. Men who’d expect Georgie to be home in time for family dinner and math homework instead of staying late into the night at her soon-to-be-occupied research lab in England.

But if Georgie had to immerse herself in meddlesome family at her sister’s wedding, she was going in wearing full body armor—namely, a fake date.

Her colleague, Colin Townsend, had agreed to join her for the week. Colin would prove she could have work–life balance and help convince her family her new job in England was the best career move for her. She was pursuing a treatment to help save aneurysm patients. An aneurysm had stolen her mom too soon. No one should have to suffer such anguish.

Colin was also heading to the same medical research lab in England. She wouldn’t be alone. How could her family, the Harrisons or the Blackwells, disapprove?

Her boot slipped on the moving walkway, scuffing her confidence that this fake-date scenario would succeed.

No. Her strategy was foolproof.

She had briefed Colin on every contingency. He’d reluctantly memorized the Harrison family spreadsheet she’d created. She’d scripted a schematic chart, specifying the body language and interaction between a couple at their supposed stage in their relationship. Then, last week, they’d spent every lunch hour at a café, where she’d picked up the tab, and they’d rehearsed the big London reveal.

She glanced at her phone. Colin hadn’t answered her texts. Or returned her phone call. Grilling him about her family over takeout in the lab last night might have been overkill.

Maybe. But it’d also been necessary. Georgie never left anything to chance.

She rushed on, stomping on her worry. Colin was a rule follower. He was probably already seated in row 12, seat B, his seat belt buckled, and his cell phone stashed inside his carry-on, which was secured safely in the overhead compartment.

Georgie boarded the plane last and alone. Her gaze skipped to row 12 and the empty middle seat. Unease skimmed along the back of her neck. A cowboy sat in the window seat of row 12, his worn hat pulled down low. Where was Colin?

Georgie dropped into the aisle seat, slid her laptop bag under the seat in front of her and set her purse on the empty one between herself and the cowboy. She craned her neck to see if Colin had chosen an aisle or window seat elsewhere. He’d probably already guessed she intended to fill the flight with pop quizzes and color-coded family flash cards.

The cowboy next to the window shifted, making her wonder how he’d wedged into the row. His legs were splayed, his right knee edged in front of the middle seat. His elbows rested on both armrests, spread wide, as if he wanted to claim as much space as possible.

The scratch of the intercom disrupted Georgie, pulling her thoughts away from the cowboy. The pilot cheerfully introduced himself and requested that the cabin be prepared for takeoff.

Georgie stopped the nearest flight attendant. Can you wait to shut the door? I just need to text my companion. He’s not here. I’m sure he’s coming. It’ll only take a minute.

All mobile devices and laptops must be turned off and stowed for takeoff. The flight attendant’s smile tightened into an implacable don’t-mess-with-me-on-my-last-flight-of-the-day expression while she coolly waited for compliance.

Right. Georgie powered off her phone and flipped the blank screen toward the flight attendant. How would Colin get in touch with her now?

The woman patted Georgie’s shoulder, her voice thawing. Maybe your friend got an earlier flight.

There are no earlier flights to Bozeman. Georgie knew. She’d booked their trip. Colin wasn’t here. Colin wasn’t going to Montana. And there are no direct flights to Falcon Creek.

Panic cinched around her, tighter than the seat belt. Now she’d arrive in Falcon Creek and get dropped into the petri dish of family without a buffer to convince her family to give her their London blessings. Her strategy had been solid. Foolproof.

Georgie loosened the belt across her lap. She hadn’t panicked when she’d overslept the morning of her medical board exam and missed her bus. She’d flagged down a cab and given the driver the fastest route to the testing facility. She just needed to devise a new approach. Quickly.

Her apartment was packed into boxes, her one-way flight to London booked. All that remained was telling her family in a way that wouldn’t cause concern or undue worry. Since her mom’s death, Dad had become overly anxious about his daughters. Now Lily had walked away from one fiancé and into the arms of another, and her other sisters had succumbed to love, too. But Georgie had no intention of joining their lovesick bandwagon.

You’re going to Falcon Creek, too? The cowboy shifted, tipped his black hat up, revealing deep green eyes.

Sixteen different genes had contributed to his vivid yet rare eye color. Georgie took in the small scar paralleling his tanned, defined jawline. He could be one of her long-lost relatives in Falcon Creek. He looked similar to the cowboys in the pictures her sisters had texted her. Maybe it was the jeans, worn in the right places, or the gray plaid flannel shirt that looked oddly perfect on him. Do you live in Falcon Creek?

Headed there for business, he said.

His reply indicated he wasn’t a Blackwell. Her shoulders relaxed.

What about you? he asked.

Wedding.

Cold feet. He tipped his chin at the seat between them. His voice was sympathetic. Sorry you lost your groom.

My groom? Georgie sputtered. It’s not my wedding. It’s my sister’s wedding. And he was my date.

Wow. Even worse to get cold feet on a date. He pushed his cowboy hat up even farther, revealing thick chestnut hair. His gaze zeroed in on her. What did you do?

Me? I did nothing. Irritated, Georgie yanked on her seat belt, tightening the strap across her hips. His arched brow broke her more easily than her four sisters ganging up on her. No one deserved to have perfectly shaped eyebrows and rare green eyes, especially a charmingly aggravating cowboy like him. She blurted, I might have been too intense last night.

He didn’t roll his clothes to prevent wrinkles and you criticized him. Or you refused to share a suitcase with him because that’s another rung on the relationship ladder. He shook his head. The playful note in his voice interrupted his thoughtful expression. You have to face it. You two just weren’t ready for the next level.

You’re completely wrong. He’s only a colleague who agreed to come with me, Georgie argued, pointing at him like her genetics professor used to when a student dared to challenge his theories. He didn’t bail on me either.

But he isn’t here. The cowboy removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. The chestnut strands weren’t even crimped or dented, which was entirely too unfair.

He placed his hat on top of her purse, effectively hiding it from the passing flight attendant and saving Georgie from another flight attendant reprimand. All carry-ons have to be stowed for takeoff. In that instant, they were accomplices the same way she’d wanted Colin to be her partner in what she’d dubbed her London Project.

Her cowboy could take Colin’s place.

She squelched the thought, slipping her purse from beneath the soft felt of his black hat and placing it underneath the seat in front of her.

Why do you need a pretend date, anyway? He was pretend—you can admit it. He studied her. One corner of his mouth tipped up, as if igniting the tinder in his gaze. You want to upstage the bride. It’s a battle of the sisters. It’s sister wars. I’m right, aren’t I?

No. Clearly, he’d watched too much reality TV. She’d watched too little. Still, she couldn’t shake the notion of him stepping into Colin’s shoes. It’s nothing like that. Our family loves each other even when we disagree.

How does it work? His curious voice tumbled through her.

What? Georgie tugged the in-flight magazine from the seat pocket in front of her, flipped it open and studied an ad for the perfect neck pillow. She could’ve used it on the plane and feigned sleep. That would have politely ended all conversation with the cowboy, but not the radical theory that he could be her plus-one.

Getting a pretend date, he said, as persistent as she was when testing one of her theories in the lab. What makes a person want to pretend in the first place?

Why are we talking about this? Georgie closed the magazine and flattened her hands on the cover.

Why was she considering this cowboy—a basic stranger—as her alternative strategy? No one would believe she’d fallen for a cowboy. She would’ve had to leave her research lab in Raleigh, North Carolina, and ventured out of the city. Her family knew she lacked a car and preferred to walk the two blocks to the research facility every day.

We have three hours together, a previous passenger already completed the crossword puzzle in the in-flight magazine and there’s no in-flight movie, he said. Talking passes the time.

Georgie stuffed the magazine back into the seat pocket. She had to invalidate him as a potential alternative. Observation and facts had to be recorded. She noted his well-worn boots, from scuffed heels to dirt-coated toes. He appeared to be a cowboy from head to toe, and appealing, if you liked dust and the outdoors. Which she didn’t. Ranch business must be taking you to Falcon Creek.

Rodeo, he said.

You’re bringing the rodeo to Falcon Creek? she asked. His shoulders looked capable of pulling it off.

He grinned at her. I’m in the rodeo.

Really? She’d never been to a rodeo. She’d seen the bulls bucking on TV while flipping through the channels. But a rodeo cowboy could distract her family from her next career move. Stop right there, Georgiana Marie. Her mother’s inflexible tone had always halted Georgie’s unapproved science projects, rendering her theories unproved. Are you any good?

Top ten calf roping and bronc riding in the country. He shrugged as if being modest about the accomplishment.

It’s like a full-time job.

You don’t have to sound so surprised.

That’s impressive. And exactly the thing that would impress Big E—her newly found grandfather—and her ranch-loving cousins. As for her dad, he couldn’t argue that the man wasn’t driven to succeed. That crazy, stupid idea took hold again, stronger than ever. So, I take it you’ve never been anyone’s pretend date before?

When I date, I make sure it’s for real. There was a vow in his voice and a guarantee in his gaze.

What would a real date with Mr. Green-Eyes entail? Picnic basket and a tailgate, most likely. Not her style. Or at least, she’d never been asked on a picnic. Disappointment sat down beside her. Which was about as outrageous as the idea she couldn’t quite toss away—him as her replacement date. He made her want to take a dare. She never felt daring. The wildest thing she’d done in a long time was arrange for a fake wedding date, and look how that had turned out. So, if the rodeo isn’t in town, what rodeo business do you have in Falcon Creek?

Horses. He rubbed his chin.

My cousins own several of the largest ranches in the county, Georgie said.

He dropped his hand and stilled. Who are your cousins?

The Blackwells, she said. My sister’s wedding is going to be out at the Blackwell Family Guest Ranch. I would show you pictures of the ranch, but my cell phone is off.

It’s fine. His fingers tapped against his leg. The Blackwell family has a reputation.

Is that a good or bad thing? Was it good or bad that he was a perfect fit for her family, but all wrong for her? She’d always dated the buttoned-up and bookish types, like herself. Men who understood that her